Dumbledore's Spies
by harrypotterlove000
Summary: After meeting a strange girl at his window, Harry discovers that Dumbledore has many spies around the school tracking his every move. Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, extreme Dumbledore bashing.
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter breathed heavily, sweating into his bedsheets and still staring absently at the window. It was misted with breath, but the face he had seen was gone. The Gryffindor boys' dormitory was eerily silent. Harry looked across the beds and saw to his surprise that both Dean and Seamus were sitting up blearily, while Neville was in a fitful sleep, muttering about magical maladies and empty gum wrappers.

"There was a face," said Harry, still half-asleep.

"What?" said Dean, his voice quiet and slurred. "Am I dreaming?"

"Do a reality check," Seamus told him. "If you realise you're dreaming, you'll have an epic lucid dream. Though I think there's a spell for that, Flitwick mentioned it once, apparently it gives you the ability to control all of the dreams in your next REM cycle."

Harry didn't know what they were talking about, or why Dean was screwing up his face and pressing his finger against his palm, so he continued with his original train of thought. "I saw a face at the window."

"Was it the same girl who kept staring at you at dinner?" asked Dean, now plugging his nose and trying to breathe through it until his face turned purple.

"There was a girl staring at me at dinner?" Harry said, alarmed.

"Yeah, that Hufflepuff chick," Seamus jumped in. "With the red hair."

"Marietta Edgecombe?" Harry's face fell. It was bad enough he was being stalked, but by his crush's best friend? "Isn't she the same girl who betrayed the DA? Her mum works in the Ministry?"

"Nah, not Marietta," Seamus said airily. "Less freckles. And her eyes were like ... dark. I don't know what colour, but dark."

"Black," supplied Dean. "Her eyes are black. Like Hagrid's."

"She's a bit weird, doesn't really talk to anyone," said Seamus. "I don't think she has many friends. Why is she staring at you though? Just a fan of your Dark Lord slaying and effortless good looks?"

Harry didn't laugh. "I don't know. I've never met her."

There was silence for a while, save for Neville's frenzied muttering and thrashing. Harry checked his watch. It was almost time for breakfast. Dean just slipped his robes on over his pyjamas and left, but Seamus spent a long time picking out the perfect outfit. He settled for a pink vest and black jeans, which his robes covered anyway.

Harry got up and peered at the window. The glass was still fogged up. It had been ten minutes since he had seen the face, but when he looked down she was still there. Exactly as Seamus and Dean had described her — black eyes, red hair, a freckle-free face. Those black eyes widened when she saw Harry looking at her.

He opened the window. His stalker was crouching on the ledge a few feet below, and when she stood up the tip of her nose brushed the sill.

"Who are you?" said Harry, apprehensive.

"Um, I work for Dumbledore ..."

"Dumbledore?"

The girl swallowed. "I've already messed up."

"What are you talking about?"

"Look, how about you just forget you saw me and move on with life? I won't bother you again, in fact, I'll hand in my resignation to Dumbledore right now. Just don't tell anyone — especially Dumbledore — that this thing happened. Good? Good. I should be going now, I have my Comet 360 here, so bye!"

"Wait!" said Harry, grabbing the end of her broom as she attempted to fly away.

"Dude, take a hint! I'm not going to tell you anything. And also, grabbing my broom like that would be a foul in Quidditch. Aren't you on the Gryffindor team? Let go!"

"What do you do for Dumbledore?" said Harry urgently, clinging to her broom like there was no tomorrow.

The girl froze. "Stuff."

"Why were you spying on me?"

"No reason."

"What does Dumbledore want to know about me?"

"Nothing!" she said, crossing her arms.

"I'm not letting you go until you tell me!"

"You're gonna be here a while, Chosen One," the girl said reproachfully. "Some call it stubbornness. In Hufflepuff, it's loyalty." She tried to tug her broomstick out of his grip, and, much to Harry's surprise, his hand slipped from the stick and got tangled in the bristles.

"How did you do that?" said Harry, wrenching his hand free.

"I play Beater for Hufflepuff," the girl explained. "I've got muscles. You Seekers are ... lighter." She began to descend slowly. "Race you to the Great Hall. We all know I'm going to win, but you might as well try."

Harry didn't really want to race this stranger, so he went about his morning routine as normal. He knew he would have been the winner, though, because he was a Seeker and everybody knew Seekers were light and fast. Beaters had all that muscle weighing them down. Or, in Crabbe and Goyle's case, flab.

What was Dumbledore up to? Harry brushed his teeth for about ten minutes, mulling over what the old man could be doing. Why had Dumbledore sent people to spy on him? He wasn't doing anything wrong.

When he reached the Great Hall, his eyes automatically went to the girl. She was sitting with Hannah Abbott with her broom in one hand and a fork in the other. She made a face at him to show that she had realised he hadn't tried. Harry ignored her and sat with Ron and Hermione.

"Hey, Harry," said Ron. "Have you tried the lamb before? It's great."

Hermione thumped him over the head with Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and then turned to Harry. "Is it true?"

"What, that the lamb's great?" said Harry cluelessly.

Hermione thumped Harry too. "No! About you and Megan Mitchell."

"Who's Megan Mitchell?" he asked.

"People are saying," said Hermione impatiently, "that you and Megan are secretly dating. Lydia Maxwell from Ravenclaw saw Megan flying around Gryffindor Tower, and then you poked your head out and started talking to her. She says she saw you grab Megan's broom and pull her closer to you, as if you wanted to kiss!"

"She's Megan?" said Harry.

"What were you trying to do if not kiss?" Hermione interrogated.

"She said Dumbledore had told her to spy on me," said Harry, "and when she tried to fly away I pulled her back so she could tell me more."

"And did she?" said Hermione, interested.

"No," he said bitterly. "She was stronger than me."

Hermione lost her thread. She sat down and continued eating, but didn't open Fantastic Beasts again and instead stared into the milky depths of her bowl, pondering. Harry just wanted to stop talking about Megan, so he seized the opportunity gratefully and tucked into some slightly burnt toast.

"Maybe," said Ron, his mouth full, "chee hos a quosh on choo. And dat Dumbeldor ding wos a disquachon."

"Chew and swallow, Ron," said Ginny from across the table, looking disgusted. "Like Mum taught you last summer."

Ron's ears went pink and he swallowed his mouthful of lamb.

"Do you like this Megan girl?" said Ginny, trying to seem nonchalant but with fear in her eyes. She hadn't touched her pancakes since Harry had arrived, and was instead squeezing the last drops of maple syrup out of the bottle. The pancakes were drenched in sweetness.

"Not really," said Harry thoughtfully, spreading jam onto his toast. Raspberry, Dumbledore's favourite. "She was alright. A bit arrogant."

"A Hufflepuff, arrogant?" said Ron. "No way!"

"Don't be so stereotypical, Ron," said Ginny condescendingly. "I think Megan would be arrogant. She always has that smug look on her face."

"You're only saying that because you're jealous," Ron observed. "Because Harry might get a crush on her."

Harry was getting rather annoyed by being talked about as if he wasn't there. He didn't like Megan, as a friend or as a potential girlfriend, because she reminded him greatly of Zacharias Smith. Also, Ron was being unfair, embarrassing Ginny like that, and she was blushing beetroot red already.

"You're so shallow," said Ginny. "What do you think of Megan then?"

"I've never met her," Ron pointed out. "And unlike you, I don't judge a book by its cover. If Harry ever does get a crush on her, I'll be happy for him because that's what best friends are for."

"Stop it!" said Harry. "Can we just drop the subject?"

They ate in an awkward silence. Ron and Ginny were glaring daggers at each pther and Hermione was crying into her cereal. Harry didn't know why she was crying but he was afraid to ask, because there was nothing more uncomfortable than someone unloading their problems onto him.

Ginny stopped mouthing death threats at Ron long enough to notice that her best friend was upset. She swapped seats with Faye Dunbar so that she could put an arm around Hermione and whisper into her ear comfortingly. Hermione whispered too, and soon they were gossiping eagerly.

Dumbledore's speech was nothing special. It was riddled with oddities and made-up words, so instead of trying to make sense of them Harry just stared at his wrinkles and wondered what he was up to. Ginny had swapped back with Faye as Hermione had stopped crying and was now listening attentively to the speech.

Harry decided to approach Dumbledore after breakfast. While everybody else was leaving, he marched up to the staff table and confronted the headmaster.

"Why do you have people spying on me?"

Dumbledore looked taken aback. "Which of my spies told you?"

"You have more than one?" said Harry, outraged.

"Miss Mitchell must have told you," said Dumbledore, more to himself than Harry. "Yes, that explains the rumours of your relationship. My hopes for yourself and Miss Granger aren't dashed yet."

Harry was horrified. He didn't like Hermione like that. If anything, he would quite like to go out with Ginny, but he knew that would upset Ron.

"I need to make sure you aren't upsetting my plan."

"Am I?"

"So far, no."

"So can you keep your spies away from me?"

"I suppose I must."

Harry had a look of triumph on his face as he left the Hall with the rest of the people who had hung around. McGonagall gazed at her manipulative boss, and knew in that moment that Dumbledore had no intention of doing what the boy wanted. He said he was better now, she thought, but he was still just as selfish.

"You should really listen to him, Dumbledore," said McGonagall.

Dumbledore said nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry knew Dumbledore hadn't kept his word, because now he was on the lookout he could see spies all around him. A face in the shadows, a flash of a trainer, whispering and rustling from an alcove. Whatever this plan was, it reminded Harry awfully of the Greater Good.

That night, as he slept, he was woken by the sound of a bloodcurdling scream. Ron woke up too. They exchanged looks of alarm as the screams continued, echoing in the dormitory. The other boys were still snoring, though Harry couldn't see how they could sleep through this.

"What the bloody hell was that?" breathed Ron.

Harry plodded across the creaky floorboards, wand in one hand and Invisibility Cloak in the other. "There's nothing there," he said, peering down the staircase. "I'm going down. You should stay here. Go back to sleep."

"I'm coming with you," said Ron immediately, clambering out of bed and shrugging on his dressing gown.

"What if you get hurt?" Harry tiptoed down the stairs. He glanced behind him and saw all of the boys hot on his heels. "No! You have to stay here, I won't let any of you do this for me. It might be Death Eaters or Dementors or anything."

"Stop trying to play the hero," said Ron roughly. "I'm here for you through thick and thin, you know that. We stick together."

Harry stepped out through the portrait hall. "Lumos." His wand lighting the

way, he followed the sound of the constant screams down several flights of moving stairs. He could hear ragged breaths behind him. Each step felt like a death sentence. They were under the Invisibility Cloak, but their toes poked out. What if they were spotted? Gryffindor was so close to winning the House Cup ...

"I think it's coming from the kitchens." Ron's voice was wobbly. "But it doesn't sound like a house-elf."

"It's a girl," said Harry. He didn't know where this particular fact had come from, but as soon as he said, he knew it was true. That only happened when Voldemort was involved. "I think it's Voldemort."

Ron flinched. "You're — you're sure?"

"Get a grip, Ron, it's just a name," said Harry, slightly irritably. "Yes, I'm sure."

They reached the kitchens. Harry reached out almost timidly and tickled the pear, but when the portrait swung open, nothing out of the ordinary was there. Dobby beamed at him and bounded over, throwing down the rag he had been using to mop Winky's alcohol-stained face.

"Harry Potter!" he squeaked. "What brings you here?"

"We heard screams," said Harry. "Do you know where they came from?"

Dobby's ears drooped. "Dobby heard them too. It was a girl. She ran in and asked for Dobby's help, but when Dobby asked what was wrong, she screamed and ran away. And then ... Dobby saw such terrible things, Harry Potter. A shadow ... a mask ... Dobby tried to help but got thrown back ..."

"Who was the girl, Dobby?" said Harry urgently.

"Dobby does not know. She got taken away before she could tell Dobby. Dobby didn't see the man's face but Dobby thinks it was ... it was ... He Who Must Not Be Named." His large, tennis ball eyes fixed Harry with a knowing gaze. "Dobby doesn't know where they went. Dobby wishes he could contact Dumbledore ..."

"It must be a Hufflepuff," Ron decided. "If she was close enough to the kitchens."

"You reckon?" said Harry doubtfully. "Who?"

"Megan Mitchell?" Ron suggested, as they left the kitchens with armfuls of socks and sweets from Dobby.

"We could ask the Hufflepuffs," said Harry. "We better just knock, there's no way we'll guess their password. Or maybe they have something else, the way Ravenclaw has their riddle ..."

But when they reached the Hufflepuff common room, the door was wide open. It was brimming with troubled students, all in pyjamas as though they had just been roused. Ernie Macmillan was trying to bring order to the crowd, but he got trampled and lay still under someone's feet.

"Ernie, what's going on?" said Harry, helping him up. "Is this about the girl who got kidnapped?"

Ernie winced. "Hannah? Yeah. She got kidnapped by —" He gagged, as if choking on the air, and clutched at his throat. "I can't say. They cursed me so I couldn't tell anyone. Please, Harry ... save Hannah. You're the hero, you're the Boy Who Lived, you're the only one who can."

Harry fell to his knees, blinded by colours and deafened by screams. Ron's hand was on his shoulder, Ernie trying to pull him up, but he registered them only distantly. Hannah was in front of him, shrieking, crying, begging for help, but he was powerless. The man in the mask pulled her away, down a darkened corridor and out of sight. Prophecies smashed on the floor and ghosts spoke riddles he couldn't decipher. He was once again in the Hall of Prophecies.

"Help!" sobbed Hannah, bound by ropes and chains. "Someone ..."

"Silence!" The voice that cut into the din was oddly familiar, but Harry couldn't quite place it. If only Ron and Ernie could see what he was seeing and hear what he was hearing. "Your hero will come soon ..."

As Harry surfaced, his ears were ringing.

"Are you OK, mate?" Ron looked troubled. "You just collapsed and started yelling."

"Justin called a teacher," Ernie supplied. "What happened?"

And suddenly Harry knew who had kidnapped Hannah. "We need to go back to the Department of Mysteries. I just had a vision. Hannah's been kidnapped by Voldemort."

Ernie opened his mouth, but he was choked again. Ron, after wincing slightly, spoke for him. "What if it's another lie? With Sirius ..." He didn't need to finish his sentence. Harry remembered all too well what had happened last time he had had a vision of the Hall of Prophecies.

"Then, let's do it Hermione's way," he said.

Ron furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Let's go get a teacher."


	3. Chapter 3

Harry was explaining what he had seen for what felt like the millionth time. For once, Dumbledore had forgotten his plan and was prioritising what was really important: the students. He and McGonagall swore to do whatever they could, but there was a malicious glint in the Headmaster's eye as Harry left the office.

"We're not going to even try, are we?" said McGonagall wearily, long used to Dumbledore's antics by now.

"I already have," said Dumbledore, and he left it at that.

McGonagall had to admit, she was sick of Dumbledore being so cryptic and lording his wisdom over everyone else. It would take ten seconds more to explain what was going on. She would just have to investigate herself, since it was clear Dumbledore wasn't going to do jack.

She stormed out of the office and down the corridor. Students gawped at her as she passed, obviously sensing her rage, but she didn't stop until she reached the kitchens. Surely one of the other house-elves had seen something — if only Harry had thought to ask the rest, rather than just the weird one in the tea-cosy.

Dobby scurried up to her as she thundered into the room. "Good evening, Professor McGonagall! Dobby and his friends have prepared the feast and mixed your special medicine into your pumpkin juice. Has Professor McGonagall come to request something else?"

"Did any of you see what happened to the girl who got kidnapped?" McGonagall asked the room at large.

A droopy-eyed elf, who had clearly been drinking, staggered forward. "Winky saw it, s-saw it all, P-professor. It was, was, it was Winky's dearest friend, after — after all." Dobby made a noise of dissent. "Winky wanted to help her friend, Professor McGonagall, b-but the kidnapper, the k-kidnapper c-cursed Winky."

McGonagall frowned. "The Choking Curse again?"

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," stammered Winky, nodding so vigorously so that her hat would have slipped off her head, if not for her big ears poking through twin holes and holding it up. "Winky cannot speak the name of, the name o-of the kidnapper, because she is choked every time she tries."

"The same curse placed on Mr Macmillan," McGonagall mused. "A very complex and advanced piece of magic, beyond N.E.W.T. level even. It takes an exceptional wizard to master. But who ...?"

Dobby hurried forward earnestly. "Dobby was speaking to Mr Harry Potter earlier, Professor McGonagall. Mr Potter suspected the Dark Lord."

McGonagall turned to Winky. "Was it He Who Must Not Be Named?"

Winky buried her face in her blouse, apparently crying, though McGonagall couldn't see what had triggered her. Perhaps she just cried often.

"Just nod or shake your head," said McGonagall impatiently.

Winky didn't move a muscle, just sobbed harder.

"Winky has been drinking again, Professor McGonagall," said Dobby sadly.

"That's it!" McGonagall declared, her patience running thin. "Winky, if you don't give me a simple answer, I'll be cutting off your supply! It would do you some good, too, to get sober. Perhaps I should ask Severus to brew a Draught of Motivation for you, to give you a helping hand."

Winky gave a feeble whimper and shook her head.

"No?" said McGonagall, so surprised she forgot to be angry. "It wasn't the Dark Lord?"

Winky shook her head again.

"Who was it then?"

Winky opened her mouth; her tongue moved but no sound came out, and she clutched her throat as though gagged, exactly as Harry had described Ernie under the spell. She lunged for another bottle of Butterbeer, and the other house-elves cringed away from her in disgust as she downed the alcohol.

"This really is a problem," said McGonagall, pursing her lips.

"Perhaps Professor McGonagall could ask those in the Hufflepuff girls' dormitory?" Dobby suggested. "The kidnappee looked to be in Mr Harry Potter's year, so Professor McGonagall could ask her roommates if they had seen anything. Or just count them and figure out which one is missing."

"That seems too simple," said McGonagall. "Surely the kidnapper would have considered that?"

"The kidnapper didn't consider whether there would be witnesses or not," one of the house-elves piped up, from the clump of those who were grimacing at Winky as she searched for the crate of Firewhiskey. "The kidnapper seems rather stupid, if Professor McGonagall can forgive the bad language."

"None of that was bad — moving on," said McGonagall abruptly. "Dobby, your idea may work. I'll get onto that now. Thank you for your assistance."

"Dobby lives to serve, Professor McGonagall," said the little elf, bowing and escorting her out the portrait hole. "Well. Ahem. Forgive Dobby's impertinence, but Dobby considers himself a free elf now, even if Dobby continues to work in the Hogwarts kitchens."

McGonagall smiled slightly at the elf, but the grin evaporated as soon as she faced the Hufflepuff barrels. Pomona had told her how to get into the common room before, but all she remembered now was that she would get squirted with Stinksap if she made a mistake. Was it worth the risk?

Tapping. It was something about tapping.

Huff - le - puff. She tapped to the rhythm, but nothing happened except she got a lot stinkier and a lot sappier. Stink - sap. Nada. Feeling desperate now, she tapped out the rhythm of Hufflepuff again, but of course it worked no more now than it had before. She was on the right track, though, she could feel it.

Something Hufflepuff.

Helga? Helga.

Hel - ga Huff - le - puff.

Bingo! McGonagall clambered into the common room, smelling like vomit and dripping with a pus-like substance, and was immediately surrounded by Hufflepuffs desperate for news on their fallen comrade. They pressed into her hungrily — and then moved out, disgusted, some of them with a faceful of Stinksap.

One redheaded girl approached her eagerly. "Professor, any news on Hannah?"

"Hannah?" said McGonagall blankly. "Miss Abbott?"

The girl's face fell. "Yeah. I haven't seen her in a while, word on the street is she's been kidnapped, I just thought you might have some news."

"Oh! Yes, yes, I'm looking into that, Miss Mitchell," said McGonagall hastily. "What do you know about it?"

"I don't know, I just woke up and heard screaming, Susan said she'd woken up before me and seen Hannah getting taken away, Portia was crying and hyperventilating, there was blood on the floor, I don't —"

"Where is Miss Bones?"

Megan frowned. "I think she's by the lake right now, but don't you —?"

McGonagall didn't let her finish. She set off to the lake in pursuit of Susan Bones, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery. Strangely, every time she passed a Gryffindor, particularly in Harry Potter's year, there was a few younger students hiding in the shadows nearby.

Susan was playing idly with the giant squid's tentacles, her eyes puffy and bloodshot. She jumped when McGonagall called her name and dropped the tentacle; the giant squid gurgled angrily from underwater. "Yes, Professor?"

"What do you know about Hannah Abbott's kidnapping?"

Susan sighed. "I should have known this was coming. Look, Professor, either Megan or Portia already told you everything I saw — I woke up, there was blood on the floor, Hannah was being dragged out by some freak in a mask. I screamed because Hannah didn't seem to be able to, and then that brought Hannah to her senses and she screamed too. That's all."

"What did the masked kidnapper look like?"

Susan stared at her in confusion, her forehead creased. "I don't know. He was wearing a mask. It was a tall man."

"Miss Bones —" McGonagall was cut off by a scream. She reached forward, trying to grab Susan's hand, but it was too late.

Susan had been grabbed and pulled underwater.


	4. Chapter 4

The news of Susan Bones's disappearance filled the school in no time at all, and people had made the connection that the kidnapper was after Hufflepuffs. Ernie Macmillan was one advocate against this, constantly trying to make speeches at the worst times, to inspire people with his pompous scripted lines.

"First Hannah, now Susan," said Hermione thoughtfully, as they sat around the fire in the Gryffindor common room. "What do they have in common?"

"Like everyone's been saying, they're both Hufflepuffs." Ron had taken over the role of scribe after Hermione had berated him for 'doing none of the work.' He took notes in messy handwriting, only looking up to throw his twopence in.

"And girls," said Harry. "And in the same year. Our year. But there aren't many Hufflepuff girls in our year."

"Wasn't Hannah Abbott friends with that girl that was spying on Harry?" said Ron suddenly, scribbling the idea down so hastily his ink blotted. He tried to wipe it away but the glistening ink stained his skin. "Bloody hell. But wasn't she? Best friends, weren't they, Hannah and Megan Mitchell?"

"Why does she always have to get involved?" Harry complained. "But yeah, I did see them at dinner together. Broom in one hand, fork in the other."

"And that was the day Lydia Maxwell started spreading rumours," said Hermione with a look of dawning realisation. "What if ... but I'd have to ... it's the only way ... and it could change everything ... this is the solution ... the reason for ... sorry, Ron, Harry, I have to go!"

"The library?" said Ron drily.

"The library," and then she was gone.

"I reckon we shouldn't be annoyed by it anymore," said Ron, as he and Harry traipsed down the marble staircase to the courtyard. "She's been doing it for years. We just have to wait and see what happens, what she's found out. Remember second year?"

"Waiting and seeing didn't work out then," Harry pointed out. "She got Petrified."

"But then we found that note in her hand," said Ron enthusiastically. "So it all worked out in the end, didn't it? Everyone got cured and we saved the school. Well, you saved the school. I just tagged along and got trapped behind a bunch of rocks."

Harry grinned as they crossed the grounds. "That's not what you told the entire school."

Ron shrugged. "I wanted my moment."

They reached the greenhouses, where Professor Sprout had been replaced by a tall, thin man with a short, twirling goatee. He wore a dirty apron over his robes and gloves over his long-fingered hands. The assorted Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs jostled each other, trying to get closer to the new professor.

"Where's Professor Sprout?" called out Zacharias Smith.

"On sick leave, mourning the loss of her students." The man didn't seem to care about the loss of Susan and Hannah. He snapped his fingers, conjuring a crate of seedlings, and continued. "Today, we're in Greenhouse Five, studying Screechsnap and planting them in our pots. Understand?" There was a murmur of assent. "Follow me."

There was a flash of light, blinding Harry for a moment, and the students entered the greenhouse.

"Screechsnap are rather loud, but their cries won't harm you." The man was practically yelling to be heard over the screeching of the plants. Lavender Brown looked slightly green. "Take a seed — take a few, just to be sure — from the crate and plant —"

Seamus Finnigan seemed to have realised something. "Hang on!" he called out, startling some of his classmates.

"Hands up if you want to speak, Mr Finnigan."

"Yes, sir," said Seamus, unfazed. He stuck his hand up in the air. "But, Professor —"he

"I haven't given you permission to speak, Mr Finnigan." The man smiled, his tone light, and continued, pacing around the room. "Now, Screechsnap can, as the name suggests, snap. I have provided —"

The class wasn't paying attention. They were slowly raising their hands, having come to Seamus's conclusion. The new professor continued talking and pacing until he could no longer pretend; every hand in the room was in the air except his. At this point, he reluctantly called on Seamus again.

"What is it, Mr Finnigan?"

Seamus was thrown off by the abruptness of the question. "Erm, well ..." He took a moment to compose himself, as the professor smiled insincerely down on him. "I was just wondering what your name is ... and why you haven't told us it yet."

The professor frowned. "Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek. Hands down, everyone. What questions could you possibly have at this stage? The lesson hasn't even begun yet!" He resumed his pacing, doling out packets of seedlings to every student.

"You dodged the question, Professor." Harry had never met this Hufflepuff boy with gold eyeliner, unless you counted the few classes they had together and occasional passing in the halls. He had bright purple hair, shimmering golden lipstick and a gold choker around his throat.

"Don't be ridiculous," said the professor, swiftly moving on. "Now, carefully make a hole in the soil with your — Oh, for Merlin's sake, what now, Mr Potter?"

Harry hadn't even noticed his hand moving of its own accord. He lowered it, flushing, and tugged his sleeve over the words cut into the back of it. I must not tell lies. The new professor could learn a thing or two about honesty.

"You're a liar," he said.

"A liar?" the professor repeated incredulously. "That's — I — no — detention, Potter!"

"We just want a name," he said, his voice coming out hollow and slightly breathy. "To call you by. What's your name, Professor?"

"A name," mused the professor. "I can give you a name. Professor Cruwilf."

"Cruwilf?" Ron wasn't the greatest at academics, but coming from a long line of pure-bloods he knew a lot about wizarding family history. Hearing the name, he should have recognised it instantly, but instead he wrinkled his nose. "Don't know it. Are you a Muggle-born, Professor?"

Cruwilf hesitated. "Yes."

"Why'd you hesitate then, huh?" The boy with purple hair was glaring daggers at Cruwilf, his eyes glistening with malice. "What are you hiding?""Fifty points from Hufflepuff!" snapped Cruwilf, and finally, that was enough to make the boy sit down and shut up. "Now, what were we talking about?"

"Your name, Professor," Hermione contributed. "And why we don't believe it's real."

"Screechsnap." Cruwilf raised his voice to the point it overpowered every other sound in the room. "And fifty points from Gryffindor. Now, have you all made holes in the soil like I ordered?"

The rest of the class passed smoothly, though this was mostly due to the students being too scared to speak up again. Cruwilf rattled off the instructions and then retreated into a shadowy corner that would occasionally flash with bluish-white light and blind the students.

Harry glanced at Ron. The redhead was still digging into the soil with one gloved finger and staring blankly at Cruwilf's corner, as he had been doing for the entire lesson. Hermione, meanwhile, was whispering to herself and trying to garner the courage for something, though Harry couldn't imagine what.

"Professor," she called out eventually, and Cruwilf turned. "May I borrow your wizard's hat for a moment?"

Cruwilf frowned. "Why?"

Hermione hesitated just as Cruwilf had when he gave them his name. Harry could almost hear the cogs whirring in her brain. "Did you say why, Professor?"

"Yes. You do know what that means, don't you?"

Hermione nodded nervously.

"So, why do you want to borrow my hat?"

She bit her lip. "Learning purposes?"

"LEARNING PURPOSES?"

"Ron, I —"

"'So, why do you want to borrow my hat?' 'Oh, you know. LEARNING PURPOSES.' Merlin, Hermione, you thought he would fall for that?"

"I was trying to —"

Harry slammed his book shut. With the chaos of the common room and Ron and Hermione's constant bickering, he was never going to get his homework done. He'd just have to finish it some other time. And any way, he had detention with Cruwilf tonight. He stood up.

"Harry?" Neville looked up, and a moment later Ron's chess queen wrestled one of his rooks to the ground. "Not again! Rook to D6."

"Detention," said Harry shortly. "Cruwilf gave me the time after class."

"Good luck," said Ron, staring unblinkingly at Neville to throw him off. "There's something up with that Cruwilf guy. I reckon you should use this detention to find out what's wrong. Bishop to E7."

"Maybe he's just a naturally weird person," Neville suggested. He glanced at the chessboard and frowned, realising he was cornered. "Knight to C6."

"Check and threat to capture," Ron said approvingly, though of course he wasn't ecstatic that he had to sacrifice a bishop to save his king. "I'm rubbing off on you. But no, Cruwilf is more than just weird. He was being really shifty in class today — especially when we were talking about his name."

"You're being paranoid, Ron." Hermione's exasperated voice wafted over the edge of her book.

Harry shrugged and spoke up before they could start bickering again. "We'll see," he said, turning on his heel and stepping through the portrait hole. The Fat Lady called after him, irritated that he had woken her up, but he didn't stop or look back. And, eventually, he arrived at Cruwilf's office.

"Password?" said the portrait cheerfully.

"Albus Dumbledore!" a voice cried out behind him, and Harry turned to see Cruwilf hurrying towards him.

"What's going on?" Harry said urgently. "Why do you need Dumbledore?"

Cruwilf's eyes widened. "I don't. Get inside, Potter."

Harry glanced at the portrait. It had swung out towards him and the spiralling staircase inside beckoned. But how had it opened? Had it simply sensed Cruwilf's presence? Or was it one of those trick portraits that had been open all along, and simply used a glamour spell to disguise themselves?

Cruwilf shoved him towards the portrait hole. "Potter. Inside. Now."


	5. IMPORTANT AN: Dumbledore's Spies 20

This isn't the end of Dumbledore's Spies.

It's simply a new beginning.

When I started Dumbledore's Spies, I had no idea where I was going to go with it. It had a solid first chapter, but after that it all went haywire. I don't want to continue this particular story, because, as one reviewer eloquently put it, it's too "disjointed."

But I like this idea I have. The premise of Dumbledore spying on Harry.

So, rather than giving up on this story, I'm going to give it a little bit of a makeover.

The first chapter will be edited thoroughly, maybe switched around a little, but it'll stay the same. It was a good beginning, I just didn't know how to follow it up. So I'll edit that, post it under a slightly different title (which you can find on my profile or with this link: s/13035229/1/Dumbledore-s-Spies-REVAMP ), and then give myself some time to work out where I'm going with this. By next week, I should have chapter two up of the revamped story.

I want this story to be perfect for all of you lovely people who have followed it, and, in the words of Ariana Grande: "yea this ain't it"

As for the characters ... I don't know about those. Megan Mitchell may or may not make the final cut. Yes, she started the whole story, but she may be replaced by a completely new OC. I want someone Harry would in no way be attracted to, without the topic even being broached, because Harry is not going to fall in love with any OCs.

I know there are some characters that are definitely getting a bigger role in the revamp. They might even appear in the first chapter.

So, goodbye for now, but Dumbledore's Spies is here to stay. Go leave a review on the new and improved edition and let me know what you think! Just click the link I gave you above.

Thank you all for supporting me, and I'll see you on the new story (which I haven't written yet, but when you see this note, it'll be posted and all.)

~ **harrypotterlove000**


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